


Wine Glasses

by Lefaym



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-12
Updated: 2009-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 02:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack needs to forget, and Ianto tries to remember. They both need to feel something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wine Glasses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionessvalenti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/gifts).



> This was written for the Stopwatch Holiday!Bang in response to the following prompt from Lionessvalenti: _Ianto's personal Christmas celebration, planning to be alone, when Jack shows up, possibly upset after John's death? Drinking wine, roaring fires, Chinese food as Christmas dinner, some Ianto first-Christmas-without-Lisa angst. If there's sex, just some "let's fuck to forget our problems"._

In the end, Jack decided to go to Ianto's. He'd given everyone the day off, as long as the Rift and the Weevils were quiet, because twenty-first century humans still seemed to like their Pagan holidays in Christian dressing, and he liked to keep them happy, when he could. They'd all offered to come in—even Owen, drunk out of his skull after Diane had disappeared—when they'd seen London on the news, but Jack had told them to stay home. Nothing they could do from Cardiff, and he'd been in contact with UNIT all night.

By eleven o'clock on Christmas morning, he wished that he had asked them to come in. He was used to being on his own, most of the time, but today... he could still smell it, he could still see it, he could still feel the jealousy and grief twisted together in his stomach as John Ellis's final breath left his lips, as Jack felt his own temporary death close in around him.

He tried the roof of the Millennium Centre for a while, and when that didn't work, Jack knew that he needed something more tangible, he needed a fucking body (or, more accurately, a body to fuck), and Ianto had proven himself willing enough over the last month or two.

At a quarter to two in the afternoon he stood out front of Ianto's flat, pressing his finger to the doorbell.

"One moment!" came the muffled voice in response.

"I, uh—" Jack heard Ianto begin as the door opened, but he stopped short when he saw his boss standing outside. His eyes opened wide in surprise for a moment, before he frowned, his brow furrowing. "Jack? Has something happened?"

Ianto wore one of his usual crisp, white, business shirts, but the first three buttons were undone, and his shirt tails hung loosely over the top of a pair of faded blue jeans. Day-old stubble darkened his jaw, and, curiously, he held his wallet in his left hand, though he stuffed it into his back pocket as Jack stepped inside.

Jack cleared his throat, and closed the door behind him. "Your car. You should have it back before New Year. Fully serviced."

Ianto folded his arms across his chest. "You couldn't phone to tell me this?"

"What, and deny you the opportunity to see my gorgeous face?" Jack replied automatically.

"I think I would have survived."

"Well, I wanted to be sure."

"Of course. Your concern for me is overwhelming."

Jack cocked his head to one side slightly, making no effort to hide the consternation he felt at Ianto's tone. Sarcasm from Ianto was not unusual, of course, but this underlying belligerence—he hadn't seen that for a while. Not for months now. Not since Suzie had died (again), and Ianto had used sex and a stopwatch as a peace offering.

"Ianto? Are you all right?"

"Fine. I'm absolutely fine, sir."

"You're not acting fine."

Ianto shrugged.

"Is it about your car? Because I'm—"

"It's not about the car."

Jack paused a moment, trying to read Ianto's face. "What is it then?"

Ianto raised an eyebrow.

"Tell me, Ianto."

Ianto raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come on, Jack. We both know that you didn't come here for a heart-to-heart."

Ianto turned quickly on his heels and stepped out of the hall. Jack hesitated for a moment before following him into the small, tidy living room. A tiny plastic Christmas tree stood in one corner, next to the television set, which was playing _Top of the Pops_ at low volume.

"I..." Jack trailed off as his eyes fell on the coffee table. An open bottle of red wine, two-thirds empty. Two wine glasses, one full, the other containing only dregs.

"I'm sorry," Jack said quietly. "I didn't realise you had company."

"Thought I'd be alone?" The corners of Ianto's mouth twitched into a small, mocking smile that was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"I thought— I heard you telling Tosh that you didn't have any plans."

"None that I wanted to share."

Jack sighed. "I should go."

"Yeah," said Ianto. "You probably should."

"Sorry to interrupt you and—whoever." Jack cast his eyes around the tiny flat, looking for the owner of the second wine glass.

Ianto sighed and seemed to slump a little. "There's no one else here."

"Then why—"

"It doesn't matter."

"I'll go," Jack repeated.

Ianto didn't respond immediately, and Jack turned towards the hall. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder. "No," said Ianto.

Jack turned back to face Ianto. "You want me here, now?"

It was hard to say exactly what happened next—one moment, Ianto was facing him from three feet away, and the next, Jack was slammed up against the wall, Ianto's fingers digging down hard into his shoulders even through his coat, Ianto's lips crushing roughly against his own in something that could hardly be called a kiss—no niceties, just teeth and tongue, hot breath that tasted of wine, and sharp stubble grazing his chin.

When Ianto pulled back, only a few inches, his eyes burned, searing into Jack's. "Fuck, Jack," he growled. "You turn up here on my day off, the only fucking day off I've had in months, and there's no fucking aliens, no emergency, you just expect me to be _available_, on my own, waiting for you."

Jack knew that it would be easy enough for him to push Ianto away from him, but instead he looked back, challenging him. "I said I'd go. Why don't you let me?"

"Because I want—I need—" Ianto took a deep breath, and his mouth twisted briefly into something like a grimace. "I need to feel something."

Jack nodded. "Me too."

Ianto continued to look at Jack for two long seconds, his eyes still bright and hard, before he pressed their mouths together again. Ianto's hands slipped down from Jack's shoulders and worked between them, unbuttoning Jack's coat, pushing it off his shoulders, and then, uncharacteristically, letting it fall to the floor. He tugged at Jack's belt, pulling at the buckle, undoing his flies.

"Eager suddenly, aren't you?" Jack breathed, as Ianto's teeth latched onto his earlobe.

Ianto laughed into Jack's neck in reply, and worked his right hand inside Jack's pants. Ianto's fingers were not as skilled or as practised as Jack's own were, but there was a certain charm in that, and Jack's body certainly responded eagerly enough. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he made a note to himself to talk to Ianto later—Jack had learned the hard way that not talking to him could be disastrous—but then that thought was driven from his head by Ianto falling to his knees, by Ianto's mouth encircling his cock in just the way Jack had taught him to do it, and _oh god fuck shit_ this was exactly what he needed.

Jack almost whimpered when Ianto pulled away from him, far too soon. Ianto turned to Jack's coat, still pooled beside them on the floor, searching for the pocket that always held a small bottle of lube and a few condoms. Necessary items retrieved, Ianto stood, met Jack's eyes for one intense moment, and then grabbed him by the arms and turned him around, tugging his braces from his shoulders. Jack leaned against the wall, bracing himself with one hand as Ianto pulled his trousers and his pants down over his hips, over his buttocks, letting them fall to the ground, pulling tight around his ankles as he widened his stance.

He gasped, a little, when he felt cold lube on his skin, but then Ianto was pressing a finger inside of him, and then another one, and Jack let himself relax into it, losing himself in the haze of arousal. Jack heard Ianto fumbling, awkwardly, to undo his jeans with one hand, and he pulled himself forward, allowing Ianto to prepare himself. And then Jack felt Ianto parting his cheeks, pressing inside of him, slightly too quick to be completely comfortable, but causing a pleasant sting as Jack felt himself stretch around the other man.

Jack closed his eyes, and surrendered himself to all of it—the tinge of pain and the waves of pleasure as Ianto moved forward with quick, mindless, almost artless thrusts, the impression of Ianto's hands on his hips, holding on almost tight enough to bruise, faint strains of a song by Kylie Minogue, the rough denim of Ianto's jeans against his backside, and the sensation of his own free hand on his cock as he stroked himself in time with Ianto's movements.

It was the sort of sex that is always done with quickly. Ianto came with a shudder, and Jack followed moments later, spilling into his hand. Jack felt Ianto almost collapse against him, his hands moving upwards from Jack's hips to grip at his shirt, as he breathed hard against Jack's back.

Jack grinned. "You okay there?" he asked, looking over his shoulder as best he could.

"Yeah," said Ianto breathlessly. It was hard to tell with two layers of fabric between them, but Jack thought he felt Ianto smile into his back. "Best I've been all day."

"Me too," said Jack for the second time in five minutes, relieved that, for the moment, at least, he'd managed to exorcise some ghosts. He was wondering if Ianto had been wrestling with shades of his own when the doorbell rang.

"Shit!" Ianto exclaimed suddenly, pulling away from Jack. "Shit!"

"Huh?" Jack turned, and his eyes fell again onto the wine glasses. Two of them. And Ianto had been holding his wallet when he'd opened the door. "Geez, Ianto. If you were expecting a hooker—"

"_What?_" Ianto's eyes widened beautifully. "I wasn't—I didn't—" The doorbell rang again. "Jack, that's the Chinese food I ordered before you got here." And then, slightly louder, towards the door he called out, "Just a minute!" Ianto reached for a box of tissues beside the sofa, and began cleaning himself up furiously.

"Oh. Chinese food. Nice. Er, I'll just step into your bathroom, okay?" said Jack, hitching his trousers up as best he could with his clean hand.

"Right," said Ianto. "Good idea."

When Jack emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, he saw that Ianto had hung his coat on a hook in the hall, while Ianto himself was standing over the kitchen sink, emptying both the bottle and glass of wine down the drain, the food on the bench beside him. Jack leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat.

Ianto turned with a small jump, the now-empty bottle of wine still in his hand. "So, uh, will you be going, then?" he asked uncertainly.

Jack shrugged. "The Rift has been quiet today, and Tosh has my phone rigged to alert me if anything happens."

Ianto hesitated a few seconds before speaking. "I ordered enough for two. If you like..."

Jack smiled. "That would be great."

"Take these out to the living room for me?" asked Ianto, holding out some chopsticks and serviettes.

After depositing the items on the coffee table, Jack busied himself looking through Ianto's DVD collection. He owned a lot of old films, Jack noted with approval.

"Want to watch something?" asked Ianto, coming up behind him, his hands full of food and crockery.

"Sure." Jack paused a moment, then pulled _Casablanca_ off the DVD rack. "This okay?" Ianto glanced at it and nodded.

Jack settled back onto the sofa and filled his plate with rice and chilli chicken as Ianto popped the disc into the DVD player.

"Not much of a Christmas dinner," Ianto said apologetically as he sat down beside Jack.

"It's fine," said Jack. "Really. It's better than the leftover pizza waiting for me at the Hub."

"Still, it's hardly roast turkey and potatoes, is it?" Ianto smiled ruefully, and looked over at the gas heater attached to the wall. "No open fire, either. I miss living in a house with a fireplace."

"Careful," said Jack. "You realise saying something like that is practically asking the Rift to spit out a huge fire-breathing alien in the middle of your flat."

Ianto actually laughed at that, and said, "It wouldn't be surprising, with my luck." He sighed. "I do miss it though. Christmas with family. Being normal. I could've gone to my sister's today, but... too many questions."

"I know the feeling."

"If you hadn't come 'round, I'd have just spent the whole day watching bad pop music on telly."

Jack raised a portion of chicken to his mouth and chewed it slowly as he considered Ianto. "So... you really weren't expecting anyone earlier—when you had two glasses out?"

Ianto turned his head away from Jack then, staring intently at the floor. "No." Ianto rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "The wine, it was— it was from last year."

"In London?"

Ianto was silent for several long moments before he spoke again. "Lisa bought it. She wanted to have something nice with Christmas dinner."

"What happened?"

Ianto sighed. "Lisa was A positive. Her blood-type. She spent half the day on the roof, in the end, and after we blew up that spaceship, everyone's leave was cancelled." He paused for a moment. "She said we should save the bottle for next year—this year, I mean. So, today, I thought, you know..." Ianto's voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard.

"I'm sorry," said Jack. "I shouldn't have—"

Ianto shook his head, still looking away. "It's okay." He smiled sadly, before continuing, his voice slightly stronger. "I thought—I thought I could pretend for a while, you know, pretend she was in the next room, or something, if I poured her a glass of wine, thought about the things she said last year, before... but it didn't work. Wherever she is now, it's not here."

Jack raised a hand to Ianto's shoulder and squeezed it tightly. At that, Ianto finally looked at him again, meeting his eyes. "I'm glad—I'm glad you came 'round," he said.

"Glad to be of service. Although—" Jack grinned, "—it was really more you servicing me in the end, wasn't it?"

Ianto managed to look both dignified and bashful. "I did my best, sir."

"Yeah, you did. I—" Jack paused.

For a moment Jack contemplated telling Ianto—well, not everything, but more than he usually would. The way the exhaust fumes had clung to him, even after he'd showered three times; the way that images of John's lifeless face kept dancing before his eyes, even as he'd spent the entire night on the phone with UNIT, knowing that he'd missed Him, yet again (not that Ianto knew about Jack's search for Him, not really, although Jack suspected that Ianto might well have guessed more than he let on).

"Jack?"

Jack shook his head. "It's nothing," he said, withdrawing his hand, and pausing for a moment. "We should probably finish eating before this food gets cold."

"Right. Good idea."

Jack felt a small stab of guilt. "I—you weren't the only one who needed some company today," he managed. When Ianto looked him in the eye again, Jack added, "Thanks."

An enigmatic half-smile flashed across Ianto's face. "No problem."

Jack turned to look at him for a moment, and impulsively, he reached out and placed a hand on Ianto's knee. "I meant it, you know. Thank you."

"I know."

Jack smiled, and settled back into his chair. "Good," he said. And then, because he owed Ianto something more than that, he added, "I didn't just come over for the sex." Even as he spoke, Jack knew that he wasn't being entirely truthful about his motives—at least, not as they'd been an hour ago. But motives change, and Ianto smiled—a genuine smile—in response, so Jack figured he'd said the right thing.

"C'mon," he added. "Let's watch this movie."

Ianto nodded. "Sure."

Jack thought that Ianto was about to say something else, but instead, he grabbed the remote control and pressed play. The title credits began to play over top of a map of Africa, a narrator spoke of refugee trails across Europe, and Ianto sank back into his place on the sofa, a bowl of food in his lap, his shoulder brushing lightly against Jack's.


End file.
